


Chasing Stars

by synchronysymphony



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, but it's not really shippy, do you feel, i guess it's sort of shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronysymphony/pseuds/synchronysymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OTP + falling asleep in an Uber</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Stars

**Author's Note:**

> happy midterms, y'all

“Who’s been unhooking the stars and putting them on the tables?”

Enjolras blinks slowly. He thinks he might be missing something, but for the life of him, he can’t think what it might be. He’s so tired.

“What?”

Grantaire grins at him. “For that matter, who’s been unhooking the stars and putting them in your eyes?”

If possible, this makes even less sense. Enjolras decides to ignore this comment (and the urge to tell Grantaire that _he’s_ the one with stars in his gorgeous, celestial-blue eyes) and turns back to Combeferre to continue his conversation. Unfortunately, now he can’t remember what he was saying.

“So, it’s like this,” he begins, hoping the words will come back to him if he just forges ahead. Combeferre raises an eyebrow at him.

“What’s like what?”

“Well, the– the thing. The thing we were talking about.”

“Enjolras, we weren’t talking about anything.”

“Yeah, no, I knew that.” Enjolras brings his hand up to rub his eyes. Why is the room moving? He doesn’t think it should be moving. After all, _he’s_ not moving. This is rude and unfair.

“Okay, you need to sit down.” Combeferre comes behind him (when did he get behind him?) and sets him down in a conveniently-placed chair. “Listen, I know I’m not really one to talk here, but you really need to take better care of yourself. When was the last time you ate anything?”

“Oh.” Enjolras tries to stand up, then thinks better of it when his vision goes dark. He settles back and pretends he hasn’t moved at all. “Coffee? Can you… Americano? A big one. With two extra shots. Please?”

“How about no.”

Enjolras isn’t daunted. It figures that Combeferre would be like this. He shrugs, and turns to his next beacon of hope. “Grantaire?”

“Sorry, angel-eyes. I don’t want you ending up dead.”

“Your face doesn’t want to end up dead,” mumbles Enjolras, making a face that might uncharitably be described as a pout. Combeferre and Grantaire glance at each other, then back at him.

“Okay, so tell me if I’m way off base,” begins Grantaire.

Enjolras flaps his hand in a (hopefully) suitably dismissive gesture. “You are.”

“No, I’m not. Okay, so the last time you slept. That was when we all stayed over at Joly’s, correct?”

Combeferre yelps. “That was four days ago!”

“We all stayed over at Joly’s?” Enjolras stops to think about this for a second. Now that he’s been primed, he does vaguely remember a study party, and lots of mixed energy drinks, and something about a watermelon. “Um… no. I don’t think I slept there. There were too many seeds.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Combeferre crouches down in front of him, looking way more serious than Enjolras thinks is necessary. “Listen up, you ridiculous little thing. Yes, midterms are important, and the Cause is important, but you’re not going to do anyone any good if you kill yourself. This has gone on long enough. We’re going to call you an Uber and get you home right now, and then you’re going to eat a sandwich and go straight to bed. Are we clear?”

Enjolras thinks all of this sounds rather drastic. “I don’t think I need to do all of that,” he says. “Let’s skip the ‘leaving’ part. I think I’ll stay here and finish up my math notes instead.”

“No, you fucking won’t,” growls Combeferre.

“You’re not even working on math notes,” adds Grantaire, completely unhelpfully. “This is a paper on Hume.”

“Oh.” Enjolras looks at the notebook that seems to have magically appeared in Grantaire’s hands. It does, indeed, seem to contain the start of an essay for his philosophy class. “Well, then. Hume sweet Hume!” He’s so struck by his own hilarity that he has to sit and giggle for a second before he can go on. “I mean, no. No sweet home. You should Hume-or me and let me have my way.”

Grantaire seems amused, but Combeferre crosses his arms and glares at both of them. “This is just not the business. Enjolras, you– Grantaire, stop laughing, you’ll encourage him– you need to go home and sleep immediately. And I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

Enjolras isn’t intimidated. He knows what’s right, and it’s not Combeferre’s bad opinion. “You have to take no for an answer. Because, you know. The null set. It’s just logic.”

“Enjolras, that is _not_ logic.”

“No. I gotta– I gotta…” Enjolras staggers to his feet. If he closes his eyes, the room doesn’t spin so much, and he can pretend he’s not swaying back and forth. Unfortunately, that means he doesn’t know where he’s going, but that’s okay. He can deal with that. All he has to do is find his way over to the counter so he can order another coffee, and then he’s golden. He fumbles his way towards what has to be the right direction, eyes pinched shut so tightly that he can see stars. “It’ll be okay, okay. Okay? It’s good.”

“Woah there.” Grantaire’s voice sounds startlingly close, and Enjolras stumbles in surprise. How did he get here? Fortunately, before he can fall, a pair of strong arms settles around his waist to keep him upright. “Easy, easy. You okay?”

Cautiously, Enjolras attempts to open one eye. The other one ends up opening too, but he’s not complaining, because he’s greeted by Grantaire’s smiling face, only a few inches from his own. That’s a sight that definitely deserves to be seen with full visual capacity.

“Hi, hello,” he says. 

“Hey.”

Enjolras thinks it’s his turn to speak now, but he can’t think of anything to say besides “how are you,” and he doesn’t think that’s quite correct for this situation. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to think about this for long, because Combeferre interrupts the moment.

“Grantaire, take him outside. The Uber driver’s here.”

“What?” Enjolras reaches up to tap Grantaire’s nose in indignant reproach. “You called– you’re taking me home?”

“Technically, the Uber driver is taking you home.”

“Semantics!”

“That’s not semantics.”

“I don’t care! This is against my rights. I refuse to go! You know what, I just won’t– oh!”

Grantaire has effectively derailed Enjolras’s train of thought by scooping him up, bridal-style, and carrying him out the door. Enjolras thinks he should probably be offended by this, but he’s too busy thinking about the fact that he’s _being carried by Grantaire_.

“I won’t go,” he mutters half-heartedly. Grantaire somehow manages to ruffle his hair.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before he can protest any further, or make any real effort to get away, Enjolras has been deposited neatly in the back seat of the Uber driver’s Toyota Prius, and Grantaire and Combeferre have wedged themselves in on either side of him. He thinks both Feuilly and Jehan are in the front seat, but this doesn’t seem right, so he decides to ignore it for the moment, in favor of his peace of mind. Combeferre gives the driver directions, and in no time flat, they’re speeding off towards home.

Enjolras hadn’t realized how late it was. It’s deep night by now, and the lights are jewel-toned in the darkness. Glittering fluorescent lights of corporate buildings flash by, lighting up the street in what should be a distasteful display of wealth and capitalism, but which is really nothing more than beautiful, street lamps glimmer on the corners of the road, and in the dim light of the car, Grantaire’s eyes shine brighter than all the constellations in the sky. Enjolras wants to look into them forever, study them like an astronomer would study the heavens. Grantaire could be in the heavens, he thinks. He’s like the night itself, all rich, full complexity, lit with the dazzling brilliance of uncountable stars.

In the front seat, either Jehan or Feuilly seems to be wrangling with the driver, trying to change the radio station, and having no success. “It’s offensively plebeian,” they keep saying, and yeah, that’s probably Jehan. Enjolras is so sleepy and dreamy that he can’t really bring himself to care, not that he really has strong opinions about music anyway. It’s fitting that the soundtrack to his life should be an anthem of the masses.

_Lately, I’ve been losing sleep…_

Uninhibited in his less-than-lucid state, Enjolras allows himself to rest against Grantaire’s shoulder. Usually, he would ask permission first, but right now, that seems way too hard. His words, usually so eloquent and flowing, seem to be trapped behind a curtain with the rest of his consciousness. He can sense what he’s supposed to say, but making it come out is much more difficult.

_Dreaming about the things that we could be…_

Grantaire looks down at Enjolras and smiles softly. His eyes are limpid starlight. Enjolras wishes he could capture this moment forever: the kaleidoscope colors of passing lights, the velvety shadows on the street, and most of all, the essence of the beautiful boy pressed up against him. He sighs gently in pure contentment, and Grantaire, as if stirred by this, shifts to tuck his arms around him and pull him against his chest. 

_Lately, I’ve been praying hard…_

Enjolras isn’t sure if he’s awake or dreaming. Everything is so warm and comfortable, and the neon stars outside have been replaced by rounder ones behind his eyelids, almost-but-not-quite close enough to reach. He’s beginning to drift, he can feel it, but he’s not so far away that he misses the sweet, soft kiss that Grantaire lays on his forehead. It’s infinitely gentle, infinitely light, and it feels like the answer to a question he’s never dared to ask.

_I said no more counting dollars, I’ll be counting…_

Enjolras is chasing stars.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in my head while I was going back from a date why am I like this


End file.
